


Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

by chetta



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: But not on purpose, Canon Compliant, Fighting, General fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Marvin's an ass, Relationship Problems, this is less upsetting that I'm making it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chetta/pseuds/chetta
Summary: It's not until they're back together again that Marvin learns how naturally superstitious Whizzer is. This, of course, causes some problems.





	1. Very Superstitious

**Author's Note:**

> *brief homophobia mention
> 
> Much thanks to Literally for the beta :)

The first argument he and Whizzer get into after starting to see each other again is also the stupidest one they’ll ever have, unknown to Marvin. It’s about a broom; specifically, the broom that Whizzer bought after he moved into his new apartment. 

“Just put it with the rest of the stuff, there’s no need for you to throw it out if it’s basically brand new,” Marvin says, already bringing it towards the packed boxes of Whizzer’s belongings ready to be loaded into the car.

The broom isn’t an overly-nice one; its plastic handle and bristles are pretty ordinary by regular standards. There’s absolutely no reason for them to be fighting about it, and yet here they are.

Whizzer grabs the bristled end and yanks it harshly back towards him. “I already told you, It’s going in the trash. You have a broom at home, there’s no reason for us to have two brooms.”

Marvin pulls on the broom. “We’re keeping it.”

“We’re throwing it out.” 

“Whizzer, come on. You’re keeping a bunch of other things that I have in my apartment- why are you so against keeping the broom?” He drops the offending item and tries to busy himself with packing away Whizzer’s racquetball equipment. 

After a month or so of casual dates and long talks about the direction of their relationship, the two men have finally given into temptation and decided to move all of Whizzer’s things back in with Marvin’s. It’s a physical monument to the restoration of their relationship, Whizzer moving back into the apartment that they’d picked out together.

Marvin finds he likes that idea more than he should.

Whizzer tosses the broom into the ‘throw away’ pile building up on the opposite side of the room. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to keep an old broom when you move into a new place? You have to throw it out and buy a new one.”

“It’s hardly a ‘new place’,” Marvin points out, gesturing to Whizzer with a racket. “You’re just moving back into my apartment, stop being so melodramatic.”

One of Whizzer’s eyebrows is arching dangerously close to his receding hairline. He picks up a half-empty box from the sofa and starts piling knick-knacks into it. “You’re calling me melodramatic? Weren’t you the one who broke up with me over a chess game?” 

While cruel, the words are said with an edge of playfulness that assuages Marvin’s embarrassment. He isn’t proud of many of the things he’d done and said two years ago. The reminders are always sore spots that he doesn’t enjoy dwelling on.

“Do you actually believe in any of that superstition crap?” Marvin deflects, turning his back.

“Yes, I do. My grandmother was a very superstitious woman and one of the things she taught me was that brooms can’t be moved between houses.”

“Superstitions are just a excuses that people came up with to justify their bad luck,” he says with confidence. “You’d have to be stupid to think that seeing a black cat means you’ll get hit by a car tomorrow, or that stepping on a crack in the sidewalk will actually break your mother’s back.” 

He turns to see Whizzer’s features contorted into a scowl. “It’s not funny, Marvin.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t actually tell me that you believe in that stuff.”

“You’re just saying that because nothing’s ever happened to you,” Whizzer says, jaw set.

Marvin scoffs and rolls his eyes. Everything bad that happens is a result of probability. Murphy’s law: if something bad can happen, it will. 

“So you’re telling me you have proof that bad luck is real?”

Whizzer reddens around the ears. Marvin shouldn’t find it nearly as endearing as he does.

“Actually, I do,” he says unabashedly.

Marvin’s mouth turns up in a wry grin and he spreads his arms as if to say, ‘go on’. 

Looking a little less confident, Whizzer sets aside the box he’s holding and busies himself with filling another one. “Okay, well. Once when I was nine I was walking to my friend Caroline’s house. On the way there a black cat ran across the road in front of m-be quiet, Marv, let me tell my story.” He interrupts himself after being faced with Marvin’s dry look. “I would always take this shortcut through this wooded area where I would have to jump across this creek; I’d been doing it for years. But that time, after seeing the black cat, I slipped straight into the water and soaked myself down to the skin.”

“That’s it?” Marvin asks, deadpan. “That’s your proof that superstitions are real? You were nine, Whizzer, I’m sure it’s not unheard of for nine year-olds to slip and fall sometimes.”

“Yes, but it was right after I’d seen the black cat! See, it brought me the bad luck,” he protests, brows furrowing.

“Or you just fell.” He needs to get away from Whizzer and his disappointed expression. 

Moving into the cramped kitchen, Marvin starts emptying drawers. It’s not taxing work, many of them are empty. Even Whizzer doesn’t think his cooking is good enough to warrant regular eating.

He hears the sound of Whizzer’s expensive shoes scuffing against the linoleum floor. “Do you really think it’s stupid?” he asks, his voice shooting for accusatory but missing the mark and falling somewhere closer to ‘wounded’. 

Marvin makes a noncommittal gesture. 

“Come on, Marvin.” 

Marvin smiles into the box of cutlery he’s sorting through. While the idea of some cosmic power doling out punishments due to arbitrary actions is completely ludicrous, he won’t begrudge Whizzer his little idiosyncrasies. “Actually, I think it’s pretty adorable,” he decides after brief contemplation.

A hand settles on his lower back and suddenly they’re back in familiar territory. “Sorry, what was that?” The words are breathed almost directly into his ear.

He pulls apart two forks that have their teeth tangled up. “I think you heard me the first time.”

“Yes but I want to hear it again anyway,” Whizzer purrs, his arms snaking around to embrace Marvin from behind. 

Marvin gives up any pretense of packing and settles his hands over his boyfriend’s. “I think it’s absolutely adorable that you think bringing the broom to our apartment will bring us bad luck. I love that you believe in these silly superstitions.” The L-word that would have killed Marvin two years ago comes to him easily now.

“They aren’t silly,” he says, sobering slightly.

“If you say so, dear.”

Whizzer spins Marvin so that they’re pressed chest to chest. “I love you,” he says, leaning in to brush their noses together. His lips curl into a sly grin and a hand dips down to Marvin’s hips. “What do you say? One more time in this place before we pack everything away?”

Marvin just laughs and pulls him in.

000

Whizzer’s obsession with superstitions is a lot less adorable when it’s brought up again a couple days later during dinner with Charlotte and Cordelia.

They’re mid-way through a tiramisu when Whizzer brings up a question that’s been lurking in the back of Marvin’s mind since the two women had shown up at their door, Cordelia looking slightly apologetic and carrying a large pot of her vegetarian matzo ball soup.

“So is there any reason you guys wanted to eat at our place tonight? Usually since Cordelia’s making the food we all just eat next door.”

Charlotte narrows her eyes at her girlfriend, setting down her fork. “Well we were planning to do dinner at our house again today but someone--”

“I left the window open for too long this afternoon,” Cordelia says, her blonde curls obscuring her face as she looks down into her lap. “I didn’t mean to keep it open for such a long time but the soup was making the apartment so hot and I didn’t want to turn on the AC because it’s so expensive and--”

“Wait,” Marvin interrupts. His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion. “I don’t get it. Why is the window being open so bad?”

“I leave the windows open all the time in the apartment,” Whizzer adds.

“The thing is, our windows don’t have screens on them,” Charlotte says, reaching for the wine bottle. The full glass she pours herself seems tantamount to the kind of day she’s had.

“I still don’t get it.” Whizzer looks between the two women before turning his quirked eyebrow to Marvin, who just shrugs in response. 

Charlotte takes another large swig from her glass and shoots a pointed look at Cordelia, who’s starting to go a little pink in the face. The doctor’s relaxed annoyance is a far cry from the tense embarrassment visible in her girlfriend's hunched shoulders. 

Marvin exchanges another look with Whizzer, nudging him under the table. 

“Uh--um. Cordelia?”

“I let a bird into the apartment!” Cordelia blurts out, flustered. 

“A bird?” Whizzer gasps. 

Marvin’s eyes widen. He cracks up into his dessert. “Really? What kind?”

“It’s not important,” Cordelia says irritably. She rises from the table and begins collecting empty plates. The terse clicking of dishware is the only sound other than Marvin’s chortling laughs. 

“A pigeon,” Charlotte supplies after Cordelia’s swept into the kitchen, too far away to hear. “She has it trapped in the linen closet because we don’t know how to get it out of the apartment.” 

Marvin pushes back from the table and goes to find his shoes. “Don’t worry ladies, my mother let in a fair few birds into our house back in the day. Charlotte, come show me.” He notices the tense way Whizzer keeps gripping his napkin, nervously twisting it around and then smoothing it out. “You alright there, Whiz?”

Whizzer blinks, eyes wide. “‘Course.” He doesn’t look at Marvin as he says it. 

“You coming, Marvin?” Charlotte calls from the door. 

Marvin keeps an assessing gaze directed at his boyfriend. “You go on ahead, Charlotte. I’ll need some sort of large sheet to trap the bird- preferably one you guys don’t like too much. Cordelia, do you wanna go lend her a hand?”

“Oh, are you sure?” Cordelia walks back out of the kitchen, clutching the tiramisu dish to her chest like it’ll shield her from Charlotte’s biting comments. 

Marvin nods. “Please. It would really help.” It’s apparent in the rigid way she holds herself how much Cordelia doesn’t want to be left alone with her lover, but Whizzer is Marvin’s top priority at the moment. He shoots her an imploring look, begging her to give them a second. 

“Come, on ‘delia. Let’s go,” Charlotte says, gesturing to the door she’s holding open. 

Marvin waits until the two of them have left before rounding on Whizzer, arms akimbo. “Alright, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do you want me to guess?” 

Whizzer balls up the napkin and walks into the kitchen, keeping his eyes averted. “I don’t know why you’re saying that because nothing’s wrong.”

Following him into the room, Marvin leans up against the doorway. “I’m really not in the mood for games right now, so please can you just tell me?” 

Whizzer busies himself with the dishes. 

“Look, something’s upsetting you and I’m trying to acknowledge it. Remember when we talked about this?” Marvin fixes the back of Whizzer’s head with a frown. “When we got back together you told me that the only way this would work out was if we actually talked about things. Well I’m trying to do that now and you won’t even look at me.”

This is what Marvin hates; now instead of yelling, Whizzer’s taken to brooding. He just stands there and stares as Marvin gets progressively more frustrated with his noncompliance. The cold shoulder drives Marvin out of his mind, especially when he’s trying to show off his newfound empathy.

“It’s dumb. I’m telling you to just drop it, Marvin,” Whizzer says.

Sadly, Marvin’s a persistent bastard and Whizzer’s always been pretty transparent in his bad moods. “Whiz,” he pleads, moving to place his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Come on.”

Whizzer sighs and gives his head a little shake. “Did you know that having a bird in your house is a sign of death?”

Marvin takes a step back in surprise, his hands dropping back to his sides. “Really? The bird? That’s what’s upsetting you?” The question comes out sounding more like an accusation. “Come on. It’s just an old wives tale, you know nothing’s actually going to happen, right?" 

“Okay, you know what upsets me? It’s this!” Whizzer rounds on Marvin, his movements frenzied and shaky. “I’m upset because you treat my superstitions like a joke and then talk to me like I’m an idiot. You tell me that you’ve changed but you’re still doing the same things you did two years ago!”

The rare burst of fury has Marvin rigid with surprise. He expects this from the Whizzer who snuck out at night to go clubbing, but not from the Whizzer that drops casual kisses on his cheeks and takes him out to play racquetball. 

Turning back to the sink, Whizzer continues mauling the dishes with the dishrag. “I know that you don’t give a shit about what I think, but it would be nice if you didn’t treat me like a moron every time I mention something you don’t care about,” he says, voice like tempered steel. 

Marvin stares at the tense line of Whizzer’s back. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t know it came off like that to you.” The apology is a sincere one; the last thing Marvin wants to do is drive Whizzer away again. 

“I’ll be alright,” Whizzer mumbles, temper cooling by degrees. “Just go help Charlotte and Cordelia -- they’re probably still waiting for you to let the bird out.”

Marvin wants to reach out and touch him, to assuage his fears and apologize until he’s brought back the Whizzer he loves. The physical distance between them is barely a foot, but for Marvin, it’s too wide to be spanned. 

Maybe they haven’t changed as much as they’d thought. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go help out the neighbors. Are you okay with the dishes? I know it should be my turn tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Whizzer says, his tone clipped. 

Marvin makes his way to the door, pausing at the threshold. There’s something to be said about apologies and change, words that he should be saying that could make this all better. If Marvin knew what they were then he would be trying to say them.

As he leaves he sees Whizzer surreptitiously reach for the salt shaker. 

 

When Marvin gets back to the apartment after rescuing the bird, Whizzer’s already in bed. He’s lying with his back to the door, looking just as inviting as a marble statue. 

Marvin undresses and readies for bed in the dark. As he climbs under the covers he ruminates about the day’s events, namely the first real fight since the two of them got back together. At least Whizzer’s still here -- that’s something for both of them to be proud of. 

The pigeon doesn’t herald any funerals, thank God, but it does provide Marvin with a nasty reminder of how awful he can be.

000

“Alright.” Marvin checks his tie one last time in the mirror. “Let’s get a move on. I don’t wanna be late. Remember the last time we missed our reservations at Le Bernardin and we had to--”

“Eat at Burger King, yes I remember,” Whizzer says, emerging from their room still fixing his hair. “We looked like idiots eating Whoppers and fries in our dinner jackets.” 

Marvin shrugs. “To be fair it was probably better than what we would’ve had at that dumb French restaurant.” 

“Still, not something I’d like to try again, though.” He re examines the work Marvin’s done with his necktie, critical eyes looking for a flaw to fix.

“You’re too damn classy for me,” Marvin says, laughing as Whizzer makes a show out of retying his crooked tie. 

Pecking him on the lips, Whizzer smiles. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Let’s go.” Marvin pulls away before Whizzer can instigate anything (the reason they missed their last reservations) and grabs his jacket. At the door, he offers Whizzer his arm. “Sir,” he says with a cheesy wink. 

Whizzer scoffs but he still threads their arms together regardless. 

 

The restaurant is only ten blocks away and they have time to spare, so the two men skip out on a taxi in favour of walking the distance. 

“It’s a nice night--there’s no need for us to spend $20 on cab fare,” Marvin says after they’ve walked two blocks and Whizzer starts dragging his heels.

His lips curl in distaste. “Well, my shoes were four times that so you tell me what you’d rather pay for.” 

Marvin smiles and pulls Whizzer closer to his side. “Walking won’t kill you.”

“If I can’t walk tomorrow, I’m gonna be blaming you.”

He leans in close. “If you can’t walk tomorrow it won’t be because of the shoes.”

Whizzer gasps out a surprised laugh, his face crinkling with mirth. This sight alone is enough to make Marvin’s entire day better. 

A man walking in the opposite direction jostles Marvin as he passes. The words are low enough that Marvin hopes Whizzer doesn’t hear. “Move it, fairy.” 

Marvin’s good mood is swallowed up by the subtle crush of reality. Though it doesn’t happen often, the occasional homophobic remarks do put a damper on their nights out. It’s something he hasn’t gotten used to yet, the stares and sneers that follow them down city streets. 

An angry blush burns across Marvin’s face. “Right,” he says, dropping his boyfriend’s hand.

Whizzer just ‘hmms’ in response. What he hadn’t heard he’s been able to glean from the deflation of Marvin’s light expression. 

The two men pass a brightly lit storefront. The window is lined with expensive watches that glitter in the street’s artificial light. Whizzer’s eyes are drawn immediately to the gold and silver and he pulls Marvin to a stop so that he can take a closer look. 

“Really, Whiz?” Marvin says. He settles his arms across his chest. “You don’t even like wearing watches.”

“Shh. Just let me admire them for a second.” Whizzer doesn’t even look away from the display, enamoured like a child with a new toy. 

Marvin sighs. The jewelry store is the last in a long line of connected buildings; a dank alley spans the scant distance between it and the pharmacy on the corner of the next one.

A series of crashes draws Marvin’s attention to the alley’s dark maw. He can’t see far enough to make an accurate guess as to what it might be.

“Hey, Whizzer,” Marvin says, keeping his eyes fixed on the direction where the sound came from. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Just a sec.”

Another round of tinny crashes sounds from the alley, much closer this time. 

Marvin takes a couple steps back. His hands are clammy. “Whizzer.”

“What, Marvin?” He whips around to glare at his boyfriend. 

The sounds give way to silence after what feels like an eternity to Marvin. 

“I just thought I heard-” Marvin interrupts himself on a gasp as a dark shape darts past them out of the alley and underneath a bench. 

A pair of green eyes flashes from between the bench’s open slats. The feral cat hisses, baring its sharp incisors. 

Whizzer throws his head back and laughs. “Aw. It’s just a little kitty cat.” He winds his arms round Marvin’s waist and props his head on Marvin’s shoulder. “Want me to protect you?”

Marvin rolls his eyes. “Forgive me for reacting naturally to suspicious sounds in a dark alley. Also, shouldn’t you be freaking out right now? Black cats and all?” 

“That’s only true if the cat walks away from you--actually, if a black cat walks towards you, it’s thought to be a sign of good luck.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me? Really?” Marvin knocks Whizzer’s hands away. “I feel like you’re just making stuff up now.” 

Whizzer shrugs, hands in the pockets of his dinner jacket. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“I’m still sure that all of this is complete crap.” 

“Uh huh.” Whizzer grabs Marvin’s hand and drags him down the street. “Come on, we need to get out of here before the cat walks away.”

Marvin gives Whizzer a look, readjusting his grip so that they’re walking hand in hand.

“If a black cat walks away from you, it takes all of the good luck with it,” he says. 

“That is definitely made up.” 

Whizzer laughs. “If it’ll make you feel better then sure, we’ll pretend I’m crazy.”

“You are crazy,” Marvin says playfully. He squeezes Whizzer’s hand before letting it drop. They walk shoulder-to-shoulder, their arms and hands brushing every so often.

Their proximity to one another draws more than a few stares, but Marvin refuses to move away until they’re seated in the dim restaurant. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Whizzer says as they open their menus, slightly red around the ears. 

Marvin stretches his hand underneath the table and settles it on Whizzer’s knee. “I don’t want you to think that I’m ashamed to be seen with you.”

“Don’t worry, Marv,” Whizzer says with a smile. “I already know. You’ve got nothing to prove - to me or to anyone else.” He covers Marvin’s hand with his own. 

The two share a warm look. 

It’s kind of hard to eat dinner while one of your hands is otherwise engaged, but Marvin makes do anyways.

000

“Take an umbrella,” Whizzer says from where he’s reclined on the couch. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

Marvin purses his lips in displeasure. He’s already halfway through the door and Whizzer’s just now telling him? “Can you grab it? There’s one in the hall closet.”

Whizzer makes a noncommittal noise and doesn’t look away from the morning programs the television is blaring. 

“Really?”

Whizzer shrugs.

How someone that lazy can be so fit is something Marvin will never figure out. He sighs. It’ll just take longer for him to convince Whizzer to get off the couch and grab the umbrella. 

He tramps through the hallway, trying to make his annoyance obvious through the heaviness of his footsteps. 

The umbrella is small and burgundy-coloured, stashed underneath Whizzer’s racquetball equipment. Taking it out of the closet, Marvin opens it up to check for any tears. 

“Marvin, what the hell?” 

Marvin looks up. “What?”

Before he knows what’s happening, Whizzer’s in front of him yanking away the open umbrella. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors?”

“Oh my God.” Marvin throws his hands up in exasperation. “First it’s the pigeon and now the umbrella. Anything else I should avoid doing in front of you?”

“Being an ass, maybe.” Whizzer shoots him a dry look as Marvin collapses the umbrella. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as he thinks he does, dressed in a fraying tee and a pair of green shorts that are almost indecently too small. “Follow me,” he says, grabbing Marvin’s hand and leading him into the kitchen. 

Marvin’s already late for work as it is--he’s sure the extra few minutes won’t make things much worse. 

“What are we doing?”

Whizzer’s busy rifling through the cabinets. “Shush,” he says. 

Marvin rolls his eyes and makes a point of staring at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to be late for work.”

He turns back around, a box of table salt clutched in one hand. “Do you want bad luck or don’t you?”

“That’s what this is about? It’s just a waste of time, it’s not going to change anything!” 

Whizzer ignores him. “Hold out your hand, please.”

Marvin follows the instructions despite his qualms. A fair amount of the salt is poured into his hand. “Okay, and now?”

“Throw it over your left shoulder.” Whizzer nods his head, mostly-deflated hair bouncing along with the movement. 

“What? On the floor?”

Whizzer frowns, impatient. “I’ll clean it up after you leave.”

“I’m not doing it,” Marvin says, moving to dump the salt into the sink.

“Please,” Whizzer begs, expression earnest. “I swear, I’ll be worrying about you all day if you don’t.”

Marvin sighs. Out of all of Whizzer’s persuasive tactics, the one he ends up falling for most often is this soft, emotive Whizzer. 

“Fine. If it matters that much.” Wincing, he tosses the handful of salt over his shoulder. He imagines that he can hear the grains rolling across the clean tile floor. 

Whizzer, however, looks immensely satisfied. “Thanks for doing that. I love you, Marv.” He leans in for a light kiss. 

Marvin defrosts slightly at the affection. He runs a hand (the one the salt wasn’t just in) through Whizzer’s hair. “Yeah, love you too.” 

“Alright, your bad luck is cured! Now go.” He pushes Marvin towards the door, eyes soft. 

Marvin will never admit this, not even under pain of death, but he actually does have a very great day.


	2. Writings on the Wall

“Jesus, Marvin, can’t you just admit that you were wrong for once in your goddamn life?!” Whizzer’s livid, his face contorted and hair askew. 

Marvin’s faring about the same. “I just don’t understand why it matters so much? You’ve never once apologized to me after an argument!” He waves a critical finger in Whizzer’s face. 

Swatting it out of the air, Whizzer says, “Don’t try and make this about me. You’re the one who’s always telling me he’s a changed man.” Whizzer lowers his voice, a crude facsimile of Marvin’s. “‘I would never say that to you now, Whizzer. I’ve finally grown up, Whizzer.’”

“I have grown up!” Marvin protests.

Whizzer scoffs. “You’re just as much of an asshole as you’ve always been.” 

Marvin grits his teeth. As much as it pisses him off, Whizzer isn't wrong. “Just shut up!”

“Fine! Come find me when you’re finished throwing your temper-tantrum!” Whizzer stomps off to their room, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the walls rattle. There’s the sound of glass breaking in the other room and Marvin storms towards it, shaking his head all the while. 

It’s been three months since the last time they really went off on each other the way they did tonight - and this one’s been long coming. The last week had been one of those ones where every interaction they had just regressed into an argument about one thing or another. If it wasn’t Marvin’s hair then it was Whizzer’s snark, or the dishes left unwashed in the sink. Every mistake was a catastrophe, each barbed remark a physical wound. 

Marvin sighs, spotting the source of the crash. At least this time it was only the mirror; its metal frame and reflective surface dented and cracked on impact with the hardwood.

He stares at the mess for a moment more, anger abating, before going to find something to clean it up with. The dustpan isn’t where it should be in the bathroom cupboard. Marvin stares at the bottle of window cleaner, trying to decide the merits of asking an angry Whizzer where it might be. 

In the end, he decides that slicing his hand open on broken glass is slightly worse than getting screamed at by Whizzer again. “Hey, Whizzer,” he calls. 

There’s a wordless, angry response. 

“Where’s the dustpan?”

“Why the hell should I know, Marvin? I’m your boyfriend, not your fucking maid.” The biting retort is expected and not entirely unfair. 

Marvin shuts the cupboard and wanders back into the hall. “I don’t know, it’s not where it usually is and I need to clean this mirror up.” 

Within the space of a breath, Whizzer’s peeking around the corner. “Sorry, you said mirror?” He stares at the mutilated frame on the floor with a look of dawning horror. 

“Yeah, it broke when you slammed the door earlier.”

Whizzer’s head whips up. “I broke it? Oh shit, shit.” He disappears back down the hall.

“What are you...?” Marvin trails off, brows drawn together in confusion. Then he realizes: “Oh right, seven years bad luck and all that jazz, right?” Following the sound of Whizzer’s frantic musing, he walks into the kitchen and sees him crouched on the floor rifling through the cabinet under the sink. 

He looks up, eyes wide. “Where is the salt? Why is all the salt gone?”

Marvin blinks. “Because we forgot to buy some when we went grocery shopping last week.”

Whizzer slumps against the cabinets, running his hands through disheveled hair. 

“Listen to me, it’s fine--I’ll go out and get some and then you can do the whole ‘salt-over-the-shoulder’ thing,” Marvin says, miming the gesture.

“No, Marv,” Whizzer says, head in his hands. “We just broke a mirror; that’s seven years of bad luck! Neither of us should be leaving the house right now.” 

“You’re kidding me,” Marvin says, deadpan. 

“Does it look like I’m joking around?” Whizzer asks. It really doesn’t, which is exactly why Marvin’s so concerned. Whizzer rises and pushes past Marvin into the other room. 

Marvin runs a tired hand over his face. His patience is already worn thin from their fight, leaving him with very little to deal with Whizzer’s idiotic superstitions. 

“Hi, Jason, it’s Whizzer calling.” 

He follows the voice into the living room where he finds Whizzer sitting by the phone. “Oh my God, Whizzer. You’re bringing my son into this?” 

Whizzer presses the phone more firmly to his ear and turns his body away. “Yeah, hey, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if your mom has any table salt to spare?”

“Hang up,” Marvin says through gritted teeth. “This has gotten out of control, and you know it. If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll go buy some salt and do your dumb ritual, but I am not hiding in my house and waiting for my kid son to show up and bail us out.” 

Whizzer ignores him, still muttering into the phone. “That’ll be great- tell Mendel thanks from me.” 

Marvin watches him for another moment before coming to a decision. He turns around and grabs his coat off the rack in the hall.

“Wait--not you, Jason--Marvin, what are you doing?” The phone is thrown down onto its cradle.

He laces up his shoes and goes to the door. “I’m walking to the goddamn supermarket down the street and I’m going to buy a box of table salt, okay? And nothing is going to happen to me because all of this is a load of hooey.” 

“Hey- hey, hey wait, stop.” Whizzer grabs onto Marvin’s coat and tugs backward, throwing him back a step. “Marvin-”

“No. I’ve gone along with all of this because I love you and I didn’t want to start arguments over stupid things. But this-” he gestures all around him as if he can encompass the entire situation. “-is taking things way too far. And I’m done with it.” Opening the door, he steps onto the landing. “I’ll see you when I get back.” 

Whizzer pleads. “No, come on-”

Marvin pulls the door shut. He can put up with a lot of things for Whizzer, but this is edging on being too much. 

He gets the need for some sort of explanation for bad things, especially for someone like Whizzer who grew up being knocked down again and again by life’s shitty events. After all, blaming a black cat or a broken mirror for your problems is much easier than blaming the world around you. 

Marvin’s still angry enough that he’s barely cognizant of where his feet are. He’s rushed down two flights of stairs before even remembering why he’d even stormed out in the first place. The supermarket. Right. 

 

The fall is unexpected enough that Marvin’s shocked when he realizes that he’s lying sprawled on the ground. 

Charlotte is crouched next to him, holding his face in her hand and pulling at his eyelids. 

“Christ. What?” He recoils when a penlight is shined into his exposed eye. “Did I fall?”

“I’m assuming so. I didn’t see it happen but since you were lying unconscious at the bottom of a flight of stairs I’m going on a limb here and saying you weren’t hit by a car,” she says dryly, pressing her hand to his head. “How do you feel?”

Kind of like he’s just run a full marathon in the blistering heat; if asked to narrow down where the pain is the worst he would have to say everywhere. “Shitty. Very shitty.” Even the sound of his own voice is making his head throb. 

Charlotte peers down at him in concern. ”Alright. ‘Delia was with me when we found you and she’s gone to go get Whizzer, okay?” 

The events of their fight suddenly rush back to Marvin. He groans, tipping his head to rest on the cool tile. “No--he’s already angry at me about the dumb mirror. If he comes down here he’ll just tell me it’s because I have seven years of bad luck.” 

Quirking an eyebrow, Charlotte stares at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you may have a concussion.” 

“No, it’s cause-” he interrupts himself with a gasp as he tries to snag her sleeve with his left arm. 

She zeroes in on it immediately, bending and twisting it to gauge his response. 

“Ow ow ow,” he splutters as she straightens it out. “Shit! Stop that!”

“Jesus Christ, Marv.” There’s a sudden flurry of noise from above them. Whizzer moves so quickly down the stairs that Marvin’s afraid that he’ll be the next to fall. “Are you okay?” Any and all lingering anger from their fight has been wiped from his face. He drops to his knees next to Marvin’s head, laying a concerned hand on his cheek. 

Marvin wants to remind him of the damage the dirty floor is no doubt wreaking on his clean, bespoke pants but he finds that he’s enjoying the attention way too much to even consider doing it. 

“He took a bad fall,” Charlotte supplies. “The most likely scenario right now is a concussion and a sprained arm.” 

Whizzer’s eyes are wide and scared. He flinches as Charlotte runs probing fingers over Marvin’s arm, making him hiss in pain. 

“Well, I think my arm’s definitely broken,” he grits out. 

“Not sure if it’s a break or a sprain yet--you need the hospital.” Charlotte has her doctor voice on. 

Marvin groans; hospital will no doubt entail an overnight stay and a hefty medical bill. Right now, all he really wants to do is lie here on the cool ground, as disgusting as it probably is. 

“No complaining, Marvin,” Whizzer says, combing a gentle hand through his hair. “I know how much you hate it there but you’re going to the hospital, I don’t care if I have to carry you there myself.”

He smiles. “What about your seven years bad luck?” 

“Fuck that,” Whizzer says with conviction. Marvin is almost impressed. 

Charlotte stands, smoothing down her blouse. “You aren’t in any real danger right now, so you’d just be wasting time and money calling for an ambulance-”

“It’s fine. I can drive him.” Whizzer nods. He hasn’t taken his hands off of some part of Marvin’s body since he arrived; as of now, one’s resting comfortably on Marvin’s shoulder and the other is still stroking his hair. 

Charlotte crouches back down and offers her arm to Marvin. “Let’s get you up.” To Whizzer, she says, “You’re probably going to have to support most of his weight, even if it’s only his arm he’s probably going to be disoriented.” 

“I’m fine,” Marvin says as he gets his feet underneath him and then immediately falls back to the ground. The abrupt movement is apparently too much for his body to handle; just the act of righting himself sends waves of nausea through him. Charlotte gives him a disappointed and knowing look.

Whizzer frowns. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Marv,” he says, snagging Marvin’s waist and hauling him up. 

By the time the three of them manage to get Marvin onto his feet, he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

“Feeling alright?” Charlotte asks as she takes his temperature with the back of her hand. 

Marvin sets his jaw and waves her away, mostly hoping that it will keep him from throwing up. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

With one of Whizzer’s arms hooked underneath his shoulders and the other clutching his waist, the two start their long, arduous trek down to the lobby. 

Charlotte shouts down to the two lumbering men. “When you get to the hospital, ask for June and tell her that Charlotte is calling in on her one favour. And I don’t care what they tell you--I’m saying he needs an x-ray so he needs an x-ray.” 

“Yup. Alright, Char,” Whizzer says with difficulty. Marvin is not a light man. 

“I’ll call in and tell them you’re coming.” There’s the solid sound of Charlotte’s shoes on the stairs. 

Marvin waits until after the footsteps are further away to say, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Whizzer hesitates, considering. “Actually, yes, please do apologize, just not right now when I’m carrying your injured body down the stairs.” 

“Fair enough.” He closes his eyes for just a second and the next thing he knows, Whizzer’s supporting all of his weight and clutching him to his chest. “I think I just passed out for a second,” Marvin says unnecessarily. 

Whizzer’s voice is tight with worry. “Don’t. Do that. Again. Or, I swear, I’ll just drop you down the stairs--broken arm and all.” 

Marvin laughs and tries to re-situate himself. “How far are we from the car again?”

“Too far. Don’t pass out again.” 

“I won’t,” Marvin assures him, feeling like he’s about two seconds away from passing out.

000

By some miracle of God, they manage to get to the hospital within the hour. Whizzer only runs two red lights and a stop sign. Marvin props himself up against the passenger-side window and pretends not to notice. Honestly, he’s in too much pain to protest very much; without even an Advil to mitigate the pain, his arm feels like it’s being stepped on repeatedly with spiked shoes.

“Hold on, Marvin.” Whizzer keeps muttering to himself during the ride, eyes fixed on the road ahead and foot planted on the accelerator. “Almost there. Almost there.” 

The nurse, June, is waiting for them at the emergency doors with a wheelchair. Marvin’s regained the ability to walk without assistance by now but the idea of Whizzer pushing him around in the chair convinces him to just go with it.

The rest of the night’s events are harder to follow. He remembers x-rays and physical check ups. The smell of disinfectant and the starchy quality of the hospital sheets. Whizzer’s surprised laugh as he cracks a joke while the nurse checks his head for a concussion.

As they make the cast for his broken wrist, the doctor reads Marvin the shopping list of injuries he acquired in the fall. Most of them are minor, barely a line in his medical report, but Whizzer still holds his hand as the doctor drones on and on about bruised ribs and sprained ankles. 

Getting the cast put on isn’t as painful as he assumed it would be. How much of that’s down to the pain meds he’s given while his wrist is put back into alignment, Marvin will never know.

He’s wheeled back to his room where Whizzer is dozing in a bedside chair. He cracks an eye open and grins. “There you are. Nice cast.” 

“Mmhm. I can’t feel my arm right now but I assume it’ll be uncomfortable once the morphine wears off.” His smile is exhausted but no less genuine. 

The thin nurse helps Marvin settle into bed while the larger albeit nicer nurse busies himself with Marvin’s chart. His name might be Richard. Marvin forgets if he even introduced himself in the first place. 

“I’m sure it’s no surprise, but the doctors want you staying overnight tonight with a check-in tomorrow. If all looks good you’ll be sent home to rest until your concussion has improved,” he says, flipping through the doctor’s notes. 

“Yes, thank you. I’ll make sure he gets some sleep.” Whizzer sounds drained. It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep himself awake and alert for this long.

Running a shaky hand over his balding head, the nurse gives Marvin and Whizzer one last smile before signaling to the other nurse. “Goodnight, boys.”

Whizzer turns to him once the nurses file out of the room, brow creased. “You were really lucky, you know that right? People have died falling like that. If you’d landed wrong you could have broken your neck or your back or-”

Marvin flaps his uninjured hand at him. “Just stop, please. I feel like I’m going to be hearing this speech from Charlotte and my ex-wife, so I’d rather not hear it from you as well.”

“Fine, I’ll be quiet.”

“Can you actually? This entire time I’d just assumed that you were unable to or something.” 

Whizzer yawns. He runs his hand over the warm plaster of Marvin’s cast. Though he can’t feel it, the motion is still soothing. “It’s late, Marv, save the wit for when I have the energy to appreciate it.” 

Marvin reaches over to touch Whizzer’s hair with the arm he can actually feel. The strands are softer now that most of the product has worn off. 

He’s still beautiful, Marvin thinks, even tired out of his mind and disheveled beyond belief. He’s still the same proud, arrogant man that Marvin fell for when he was lonely and desperate, but thrown into a softer light. The Whizzer of their previous relationship would never have consented to wear just a sweater and jeans out of the house; Marvin could have been bleeding out and he still would have found time to restyle his hair.

“Shhhh, let me sleep.”

“I haven’t said anything.” He pushes a few errant strands behind Whizzer’s ears, making him smile. 

He ducks away from the hand, eyes fond. “You’re thinking very loudly. Shush. Sleep.”

Marvin lies back. The words are said before he even realizes that maybe their fight isn’t the right can of worms to be opening at this particular moment. “So did you ever do your salt-throwing thing?” 

Groaning, Whizzer rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He settles in for a long conversation. “No,” he admits. “Actually, I think the mirror might still be on the floor--I’ll need to clean that up tomorrow at some point.” 

Something occurs to Marvin. He angles his head towards Whizzer. “Are you going to lord this fall over me every time I make fun of your superstitions?” he asks.

“No, I’m not that cruel. Also, I think it’s about time that I stop caring about them so much.”

He draws back. “Wait, Whizzer. I wasn’t asking you to-”

“I know you would never ask, so I’m making the decision for myself. You know what I realized while I was driving you here?”

“That you’re not a very good driver?” The joke is a lame deflection, both of them know it.

“Marvin,” Whizzer admonishes.

He sobers. “I know, sorry.”

“None of my beliefs about black cats or birds ever really made things happen. When you fell down the stairs, it wasn’t because of a shattered mirror; it was because we fought and you were so furious that you had to leave the apartment.” Whizzer’s eyes are shining even in the dark of the room. He reaches for Marvin’s hand, holding it in both of his. “Superstitions don’t decide our luck, that shit’s up to us. I’m sorry for making all of it such a big deal.”

Marvin exhales a long breath. “I have apologizing to do as well.”

“I like where this is going already,” Whizzer says, grinning.

“I know that sometimes I can be very…”

“Mean,” Whizzer supplies, smiling. “Proud, harsh, cocky.” 

Marvin huffs a laugh. “Yes, yes, all of that.” He leans over to kiss Whizzer’s cheek. “I am all of those things and more.Truth is, I’m not a new person.”

Pressing Marvin’s hand to his lips, Whizzer says, “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you again if you were. We’re always going to have fights. There’ll always be things that you’ll do that will piss me off.” 

“I’m sorry about being such a dick to you about your superstitions,” Marvin says. 

“So am I.” Whizzer pillows his head on his arms. “Now go to sleep. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright.” No need to ask him twice. Marvin leaves one last kiss on the crown of his boyfriend’s head before leaning back and closing his eyes. 

They sleep with their hands clasped together.

000

Marvin wakes the next morning to a flood of sunlight and sound. The space next to him is empty, the shape of Whizzer’s arms left imprinted in the sheets.

There’s a call button on the rail of the bed that Marvin presses to summon the nurse. Luckily, it’s the nice nurse this morning, looking harried. 

“Hello, Marvin,” he says as he closes the blinds. The dimness is much kinder on Marvin’s aching head. “Glad you’re up now--I’ll bring you your breakfast and admit your visitors in, hm?” 

Marvin’s busy trying to figure out how the remote for his bed works. The button he hits elevates the foot of the bed. “Sorry, visitors?” 

The nurse grabs the remote from him and selects the correct settings, raising the back of the bed so that Marvin can sit up. “Yes, you have a few.” 

Apparently, ‘a few’ is Marvin’s entire family as well as his next-door neighbors. The group of them file into the room with Whizzer in tow. 

“Woah, dad are you alright?” Jason asks as soon as he’s through the door. He’s got his travel chess set tucked under one arm and a worried look on his face. 

‘I’m fine, Jason, just a little banged up. Hello Trina, Mendel.” 

Mendel nods. “Marvin.” 

Trina just gives an absentminded wave, busy rummaging through her purse. 

Jason takes Whizzer’s vacated seat and immediately gets his hands on the cast. “Does this hurt?” He pokes hard into the plaster. 

Marvin laughs, accepting tight hugs from Charlotte and Cordelia. “No. That’s kind of the idea, buddy. Thanks for coming to see me,” he says, addressing everyone. 

“As soon as I heard that you fell down a flight of stairs, I knew I needed to come see it for myself.” Mendel claps him on the shoulder, amused beyond words. The smug bastard. 

“Here.” Trina holds out a plastic package for him to take. “I know you can only sleep if it’s quiet.” It’s a set of earplugs, probably from the hospital store downstairs. The gesture is undeserved, but nice nonetheless. 

“Thank you, Trina.” Marvin grins at her. 

She straightens her skirt, a long floral affair that almost reaches the floor. “It was no trouble at all.”

He feels a hands on his shoulders and a mouth being pressed to his hair. “Too bad she didn’t get me a pair too,’ Whizzer says, making space for himself on the bed.

Marvin shifts over so that Whizzer can sit next to him. “It’s not like they would have stopped you from complaining anyway.” 

Whizzer scoffs but doesn’t deny anything. 

Charlotte’s by the foot of the bed, checking his chart. She holds it up for Cordelia to see. “So a concussion and a broken wrist? I was spot on, ‘Delia.” 

“Yes, you were right.” Cordelia doesn’t look up from the tin she’s opening. She fixes Marvin with a bright smile. “I made you cookies because I know how much hospital food stinks.” 

“Wonderful, thanks.”

“Can I sign your cast, dad?” Jason asks, looking at him with wide eyes. Having a signed cast is much too juvenile for a man of Marvin’s age, but really? Like he’s actually going to say no to that face. 

“Sure, kid.” He snags a sharpie from a tin of pens and markers sitting on his bedside table and holds one out.

Jason takes his time, scribbling his name perpendicular to Marvin’s thumb. “There.”

“Oh, I want in on this too,” Cordelia says, snatching the marker from Jason. Her name is written in all capitals across the inside of his forearm.

“Pass it here.” Trina holds out her hand for it next. 

By the time the marker’s been passed around the room, Marvin’s cast is covered in Sharpie scrawls. Jason’s just filling up the last few empty spaces with tic-tac-toe games and doodles of little baseball players when Mendel calls for everyone’s attention. 

He has Whizzer’s Polaroid camera clutched in one hand. “Everyone get in, I’m taking a picture.” 

“No, come on, Mendel. I don’t want this accident immortalized forever,” Marvin complains, trying to wave him off. 

Mendel grins. “You may not, but I certainly do. Since I’m not your psychiatrist anymore, well, your fears and failures are all up for grabs.”

There’s a mad shuffle as everyone tries to get into the frame. Cordelia ends up sprawled on the hospital bed with him and Whizzer; Trina and Charlotte stand off to the sides. Jason crouches in front of the bed on his hands and knees. 

“Just go with it.” Whizzer winds his arms around Marvin and turns to the camera with a radiant smile. 

His and Whizzer’s relationship may be dysfunctional sometimes, but so is their family. Neither one will ever be perfect; just because they love each other doesn’t mean they won’t start stupid arguments or slam doors. Marvin can live with that, though, if it means that he gets to share his life with all these wonderful people.

“One, two, three--Cheese!”

Marvin smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 up!! Kudos to anyone who saw my little nod to A New Brain with the nurses. :)
> 
> I've already finished my next fic (finally reached 10k) so that will be posted all at once in the next week or so. This week I'll be starting a long fic based off an au idea I've had for a while which I'm hoping will come to around 40k words. Also, to mitigate the stress of school starting and concentrating only on one story, I might be starting a prompt-based series for which I'll need ideas--so if you have a burning desire to see a certain headcanon or situation, drop me an ask on Tumblr!
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me going!!
> 
> [Come cry about Falsettos with me on Tumblr!](http://memesichetta.tumblr.com/)


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